The Switch

32

Will could hear baby Travis crying when he entered his apartment building, all the way down in the lobby. It was late, almost ten at night, and he was just returning from a fund-raiser. He wondered if everyone in the building could hear the cries throughout the day. They must. Which meant that his neighbors really were decent folks: no one had complained. Not yet, anyway. Maybe because the baby was just a newborn.

Well, so much for turning to his e-mail in the home office. As soon as he came in the front door Jen carried red-faced Travis over, waited for Will to put down his briefcase, and then handed him their baby.

“You try.”

He held Travis tightly against his chest; the baby liked being swaddled close. But that didn’t stop him from wailing. Sometimes that little creature broke his heart.

“He won’t take a bottle. I tried again.”

“How about you feeding him — you know...?” Jen had only breastfed him; they never used formula. They’d tried, but the baby had refused it.

She shook her head. “I saw the doctor today.”

“What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean, what’s wrong? He won’t stop crying. And you know what he told me? I’m not producing enough milk. Our baby is hungry!”

“Really?”

“We have to supplement with formula. No matter how much he fights it.” She handed him a nursing bottle of white liquid. It was warm in his hand. He slipped the nipple end into Travis’s mouth, mid-cry, and to his surprise Travis latched right on, sucking away greedily. The apartment was suddenly blissfully silent. He felt the little baby’s warmth against his chest. He inhaled Travis’s sweet milky smell and it melted something hard inside him, and he thought: I can’t lose this. This is life itself.

I have so much to lose.

And he thought about what Susan had said. About him being damaged. She was probably right. He was damaged. He wondered whether Jen saw this in him. If she did, if she ever really saw inside of him, she wouldn’t love him. He was sure of that.

“Well,” she said. “Aren’t you the expert.” With no warning, she started crying. “I can’t even do this right. Do you know what it’s like spending all day with him? I’m going out of my mind.”

“You need a break,” he said. “You need to get out of the house.” She was on maternity leave from her corporate law firm and didn’t sound eager to get back to work.

“And how exactly am I going to do that? You know we can’t afford a nanny or an au pair.”

“I keep telling you, my mother would be delighted to help out.”

“Your mother? You’re kidding me.”

“She can move right in upstairs. You’ve got too much to do. Mom’s got too little. It’s win-win. And she loves babies. Why don’t I call her right now?”

“I do not want your mother living here.”

He shrugged, smiled. “She’d be happy to do it. All we have to do is call.”

“No way!”

She wouldn’t complain again, not for a while. The threat of his mother moving in was, to her, too appalling. He felt a pulse of satisfaction: he’d successfully handled the problem. That was what he was good at. Sometimes he felt as if everything would fall apart if he wasn’t there to hold it together. “I have to go out of town tomorrow,” he said. “Just for the day.”

“Chicago?”

He shook his head. “Boston.”

“She giving a speech?”

He didn’t like lying, but he also couldn’t tell her the real reason he had to go to Boston. “Just a fund-raising thing. A donor-cultivation visit.” He looked around. The apartment was a pigsty, but he knew better than to ask her to tidy up.

Will could never admit this to her, but he preferred being at work to being at home. That was the simple truth. At work he was necessary and appreciated. He knew he was helping advance the interests of Senator Susan Robbins. He was sure she was destined for the White House, and he intended to be right there with her. Chief of staff to the first woman president sounded awfully good to him.

But this ongoing nightmare of the missing laptop — it was getting worse and worse, and he feared it might become uncontainable.

Because there were a few scenarios that now seemed likely. Like reading about CHRYSALIS in The Washington Post or The New York Times. And the Justice Department launching an investigation, which would surely lead to him. He could go to prison for what he’d done for Susan.

He didn’t want to think about it, but he had to force himself to do so.

Retrieving that laptop was crucial. It would keep him from going to jail and keep the boss on the path to the White House.

But if he failed — if his trip to Boston was unsuccessful...

The possibility scared the hell out of him.

But he was equally scared of what he might have to do.

He flashed on what the Problem Solver had said. I don’t work on a leash, okay? I do what I do. You tell me what you need. You don’t tell me how to get it. I do whatever I deem necessary.

He had to do whatever was necessary.

But how far would he go? What would he do?

Maybe the better question was: What wouldn’t he do? There was so much to lose.